Passenger
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: G1, oneshot. On a dark night, Prowl and Bluestreak offer a human a ride home. But Bluestreak is positive that this human is one of those infamous “phantom hitchhikers,” and the human’s creepiness isn’t helping.


**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Summary: **G1, oneshot. On a dark night, Prowl and Bluestreak offer a human a ride home. But Bluestreak is positive that this human is one of those infamous "phantom hitchhikers," and the human's creepiness isn't helping.

**Rating: **K+

* * *

Passenger

Prowl was in his office, holding a pair of tweezers in one hand and a large magnifying glass in the other as he patiently worked on making the "unread" mail pile smaller and the "read" piles bigger. Said "read" piles were further divided into "harmless and thankful admirers," "worrisome fans, but still harmless," and "send restraining orders."

He looked up suddenly, a strange internal signal telling him that—

"Bluestreak," Prowl said in his ever-patient tone. "Are you waiting for me outside my office?"

There was a long pause. "Yes," Bluestreak answered.

"What is it you need?" Prowl asked, even though he knew _exactly _what Bluestreak was doing outside his officer door.

"I have to go on patrol," Bluestreak said finally, the answer that Prowl had been expecting.

"Yes?"

"In the dark."

"Yes?"

"After midnight."

"Yes?"

"And it's a full moon."

"What is it, Bluestreak?"

"Come with me?" Bluestreak said piteously. Prowl was very glad that there was a door separating him from the gunner, so he was thusly immune to Bluestreak's wide, puppy-optics.

"It's perfectly safe, Bluestreak," Prowl said patiently. "Nights on earth are a lot safer than many other places we have been to."

"But, Prowl!" Bluestreak protested. "You can't hit something that _isn't of this realm! _And it's night-time, and it's dark, and it's a full moon, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker said that it's on nights just like tonight that the phantom hitchhikers come out and trick benevolent drivers into taking them into the refuge of their cars so that they can take their victims to a _very very bad place _and that since the Autobots came on earth they'd really like to…"

Bluestreak continued in his recounting of all the rumours that he had overheard from other mechs of the Ark and that _certain mechs _had driven into his processor. Prowl shook his head. Bluestreak hadn't been the same ever since _certain mechs _– who were still on punishment detail – had made it their duty to "educate" Bluestreak on the dangers of "phantom hitchhikers."

And though Bluestreak wasn't as naïve as mechs gave him credit for – he was one of the Autobot elites, after all – he still believed the tales.

"Come with me?" Bluestreak asked again.

"No."

"Please? Just one more time, please?"

Prowl leaned back in his chair tiredly. He thought about his options. Either he'd have Bluestreak sit by his door, all night long, or he could go with him. _Besides, _he thought tiredly, casting a long glance at the huge "send restraining orders" pile. _I believe that this can wait. _

"Fine," he said. He heard Bluestreak's quick thanks, and then heard his footsteps lead away from his office.

Prowl was driven to the point where he almost did something human – he almost _sighed. _

Bluestreak couldn't last being this jumpy forever – and Prowl was certain that, despite the affection he held for the gunner, Prowl wouldn't be able to stand his clinginess for much longer.

He had to do something.

**X x X **

It was the middle of the night, and two cars of similar design drove along a small, dark road that was illuminated only by the headlights of the two cars. It was raining steadily, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of water and machine, the pitter-patter of rain as water hit glass and steel.

The smaller car, chugging along behind the other car, was being rather clingy.

"I don't like this Prowl," Bluestreak said. "I don't like this at all."

"You haven't liked any of the nights, Bluestreak," Prowl said.

"But it's dark and it's raining and it's the middle of the night _again _and we're not exactly in a populated area where ghosts tend to, you know, not be—"

"There are no such things as ghosts, Blustreak."

"But Sideswipe said—"

"And what have I told you?"

"'Don't believe everything that twins tell you," Bluestreak recited grudgingly.

"That wasn't it."

"Don't believe _anything _the twins tell you," Bluestreak said.

"Better."

They drove along again in silence, their scanners passing through the pouring rain. There were tiny lights, shining from far-off, indicating a small human habitation in the distance.

"Not close enough," Bluestreak muttered.

"Once again, Bluestreak, your fears are completely…" Prowl didn't finish his sentence, his scanners all of a sudden focused elsewhere—focused on something that Bluestreak, for some reason, couldn't sense.

"What did I miss?" Bluestreak asked hurriedly. "What did I miss?"

And then Bluestreak saw what Prowl had seen: there was a single human walking along the side of the road, hair plastered against her forehead as the rain kept coming down.

The human was dressed in a simple white flowing dress. Water from the rain dripped from the hem. Her hands were held loosely at her side, and the rain dripped steadily from her parted fingers. A flower was nestled in her hair, bruised and pathetic in the rain. At the sound of their approach, she stopped in her walk, and then turned around. She looked at them, her doe-eyes wide but…blank.

To Bluestreak, she might as well have had a blinking neon sign above her pointing downward proclaiming the words: GHOST! RUN NOW!

But it was too late. Prowl was already slowing in his pace, and Bluestreak reluctantly slowed down to match his speed.

_Don't talk to her! _Blustreak radioed. Not that that would help, anyway – ghosts had _phenomenal cosmic powers, _and she could probably hear them anyway.

_Do not be silly, Bluestreak, _Prowl radioed patiently back. Aloud, he said. "Are you alright, Miss?"

She looked at them, a figure in white standing in the rain, illuminated by their headlights.

"Why yes," she said. "And how are you this fine evening?" Her voice was faint, her tone vaguely pleasant. And then she smiled crookedly.

_She's smiling evilly! _

_Stop it, Bluestreak. _

_She's talking weird!_

_She i__s probably just tired._

"Where do you live, Miss?" Prowl continued.

"In the village," she said, and she gestured towards the small cluster of lights in the distance. "I got…lost."

"Lost?!" Bluestreak blurted out. She turned her attention onto him, and Bluestreak instinctively hid a little behind Prowl, headlights dimming.

"Yes," she said finally, as though daring him to contradict her again. "Lost."

"Would you like lift?" Prowl asked. Bluestreak felt his spark give a terrified little pulse.

_Prowl! What are you thinking?! Don't—_

But Prowl ignored him, and propped open his door. The strange human climbed inside his passenger seat and Bluestreak could only look on, numbly. Prowl started driving towards the small human town, and Bluestreak followed him closely.

Two cars, driving along a dark road, with a ghostly passenger.

"Could I have…some music, please?" the human asked.

"Certainly," Prowl answered, and he turned on his radio to the local classical music station.

Eerie chanting filled Prowl's interior and filtered into Bluestreak's radios, all screeches and croons and flats and sharps, and seemed to Bluestreak to be the sound of a thousand bodiless voices summoning a demon of the apocalypse to whom they were sacrificing two hapless Autobots.

"Oh," she said, giving a small smile. "I love this song."

"It is quite pleasant," Prowl agreed. He started humming along with it.

If Bluestreak were in his bipedal formed, he would have stared at Prowl, gaping and optics all wide and horrified. As it was, all he could manage was a small, terrified sound into the communication channels. _"It's like we're in a horror movie!" _Bluestreak wailed. _"A bad horror movie! You know how this is going to turn out!"_

He thought, briefly, about radioing for back-up—

_Don't you dare_ Prowl said.

_But—_

_She's a harmless human, soaked to the bone, and it costs us little to help her home and get her dry, _Prowl said evenly.

_But she's—_

_Rather eccentric, but still human._

_Did she brainwash you?_ Bluestreak asked urgently. _Fraggit, Prowl! You're brainwashed. You're totally under her spell. I'll call for backup. I'll—_

_Bluestreak. I am not brainwashed._

_Prove it._

'_As the Kitchen Sinks' has too many plot holes to be feasible, and despite Greg being the fan-favourite and the current love interest of the heroine, it is quite obvious that the 'bad boy' Alex is the baby's father. _Prowl radioed back to him tiredly. _The child was most probably conceived on a drunken night, perhaps during episode thirteen of season two where Tanya was heartbroken over Greg's supposed betrayal. The entire season will be wasted and I predict that, in the next season, it will all turn out to have been Stacey's dream._

_Oh. I guess you aren't brainwashed._

_Be logical, Bluestreak._

Spike had once laughingly compared Prowl's "Be logical" to a beleaguered human parent's request for their child to "Behave."

Bluestreak didn't see the similarity.

_I say we ditch her before her maniacal ethereal plan goes too far! _

_She has no such plan. _

_How do you know that? _

_Because the belief that she is a being from the next realm is completely illogical. _

Spike had once laughingly compared Prowl's "Because it is illogical" to a beleaguered human parent's "Because I said so."

Bluestreak didn't see the similarity of that, either.

Meanwhile, the human was sitting serenely in Prowl's passenger seat, looking out the window. Quietly, she raised her hand, and tapped her finger against the glass, gesturing towards a small, run-down farm in the distance.

"I used to live here…" she said.

Bluestreak swerved suddenly behind Prowl, panicked by her words. He regained his balance and momentum, and almost yelled through the communications: _Did you hear that Prowl?! She said 'used to'! As in past tense, as in not anymore, as in she's really dea—_

"Until I moved," the human finished. "Now I live in the town."

_See, Bluestreak? _Prowl asked. If Bluestreak didn't know any better, he would have said that Prowl sounded smug.

_But did she have to be so creepy about it? _Bluestreak radioed back grudgingly.

They continued driving in silence for a while, Bluestreak fighting the urge to transform and rescue Prowl from the ghost against the SIC's wishes.

Prowl wouldn't like that. Besides, there was a very tiny voice in Bluestreak, telling him that Prowl was correct…

Unfortunately, it was being overridden by another part of Bluestreak that was screaming hysterically.

And, to be fair, the human really wasn't helping.

As they neared the town, she said, in her quiet, ethereal voice, "I must cross over…to the other side…"

Bluestreak wailed through the radio, _That's exactly what a ghost would say!_

_Bluestreak, _Prowl said. Bluestreak was beginning to really hate Prowl's patient tone. _Be calm. _

"Of that bridge!" the human finished, gesturing with unnecessary flourish to the bridge that connected their side of the road to the town across.

_See? _Prowl said.

_Why? _Bluestreak moaned.

They started driving over the bridge.

_Bluestreak._Prowl said._ Trust me, her body radiates warmth, her heart beats, she breathes…she is very much alive, I assure you. _

_Then maybe she's not a ghost. Maybe she's like…like a zombie, or something. _

_My point still stands. Zombies are dead. Our passenger is very much alive. _

"I have unfinished business…" the human continued.

_Oh no…_

"That I must finish tonight. My project is due by the end of this week."

_Then why didn't she just say—_

"There are stranger things, darker things, wandering around this earth…"

_Why did we just have a sudden change in topic? _

"…So it's good to know that we're all normal here."

_What? _

_She's just trying to make small talk, Bluestreak. _Prowl said mildly. He said something to the human, then, something that Bluestreak couldn't hear.

_Are you actually going along with this?_Bluestreak demanded.

_There's nothing wrong with a little bit of conversation._

"I died…" the human continued.

_She __**what? **_Bluestreak screeched.

"The day my bunny ran away."

_See, Bluestreak? _Prowl said. _Just a human. A highly eccentric human, but still human. _Aloud, he said, "I'm sorry. I hope you're alright now."

Bluestreak was so deep in a state of shock and bewilderment that he didn't have anything to say to that.

Finally—_finally_—they reached the human's house.

Someone outside was waiting for her.

He was dressed entirely in black, more shadow than human. The slight wind moved the hem of his cloak in such a way that it cast the illusion of movement, though the human himself was still. Pale fingers wrapped around the handle of a black umbrella, which he held almost absently above himself. As Prowl's headlights reached him, Bluestreak almost swore that those eyes glinted red.

_It's a family of ghosts! _Bluestreak wailed.

_Don't be silly, _Prowl said firmly.

_She's brought us home for dinner! We're the main course! Prowl, we should get out of here, we should—_

But Prowl, as he had done the entire night, ignored him. He stopped in front of the human, and propped open his door.

"I've been waiting for you, sister…" the new human said, his creepy tone a match to hers.

"I'm sorry I'm late…" she said, getting out of Prowl's seat. She turned to Prowl. "Thank-you…"

"Yes. Thank-you, kind sirs," her brother said. He gave the Autobots a crooked smile, his head tilted slightly to the side and eyes gone very wide. "For returning my sister home."

By this time, Bluestreak could feel his spark randomly pulsing. _They're creepy! _

_Stop it. _

"You're very welcome," Prowl answered pleasantly.

There was another pause. Bluestreak couldn't take it anymore, he was a fool to let this go too far. Now they'd be trapped forever and ever and—

"Hi there!" came a little voice. A little girl peeked out from behind her brother's cloak. She was dressed in bright yellow-and-purple rain boots and a bright yellow rain coat whose hood resembled the head of a duck.

Abruptly, she ran up to Bluestreak and hugged as much of him as she could. "I have just met you, and I love you! Muah!" she said, giving him a big kiss.

Bluestreak was so shocked that all he could manage was a bewildered, "Uhh…"

"Thank-you…" their passenger said again, still in her faint, ethereal voice. "For taking me home."

"Now we can finally…rest in peace…" her brother said.

So many things had happened that night that Bluestreak didn't even react to that.

"Because we have to get up early tomorrow for school!" the little girl piped up cheerfully. "Thank-you mister robots!"

"You're very welcome," Prowl replied.

The older humans both gave final, mysterious, small smiles to the Autobots, and then turned away, and started walking slowly towards the house. The little girl gave an energetic wave, and then followed her siblings indoors.

There was a pause. Slowly, Bluestreak took in the surroundings—the house with a white picket fence, the clumsy drawings posted at the windows, a sign at the door that read, "Beware of dog. He'll lick you to death, we mean it!", the toys that were scattered around the yard, and the ducks that quacked at them from behind the trees.

"That was weird," Bluestreak said finally. His voice was calm. Tired, but calm.

"Let's go home," Prowl said.

They started driving away, and it was Bluestreak who broke the silence.

"Well," Bluestreak said cheerfully. "I knew she wasn't a ghost."

"Not scared anymore, Bluestreak?"

"Prowl, after _that, _I've learned there's nothing to be scared of. There aren't any ghosts around!" Bluestreak chuckled. "There are just humans! Really, really strange humans. Though," he added. "I wonder. I wonder if it'd be more logical to be scared of weird humans? 'Cuz you know, ghosts may not be real, but humans, well they—"

"Don't you dare start, Bluestreak," Prowl said firmly. "Don't. You. Dare."

The drive home was a lot more pleasant.

**X x X**

"Hi Prowl, I was just going outside for a bit, and—what are you doing?" Bluestreak asked, coming into Prowl's office one day without bothering to knock.

"I am attending to my letters, in particular the 'send restraining orders' pile," Prowl answered from somewhere behind the pile of paperwork.

"You actually keep your 'send restraining orders' pile?"

"What else would I do with them?"

"Well," Bluestreak started. "You could be like Ironhide and crumple them into one huge cannonball and fire the letter-cannon at the Decepticons, or you could be like Jazz and use them for origami, or you could be like Beachcomber and recycle them, or you could get all twitchy and jumpy and generally just creeped out before dumping them in a little pile and setting them aflame, while screaming, 'BURN IT! BURN IT!' like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker—"

"Bluestreak," Prowl said evenly. Bluestreak couldn't even see him from behind the paper towers. "One must keep the letters to know whom to give out restraining orders."

"Oh, okay," Bluestreak said.

There was a pause.

"What do you suggest I do with them after?" Prowl asked, with the voice of one who was dreading the answer.

Bluestreak brightened up, completely missing Prowl's tone. "Put them in Wheeljack's box. He'll do something fun with them."

"I'll…consider it."

"Okay. Fair enough. See you later!"

When Bluestreak was well on his way down the hall, Prowl peaked out from behind the piles of paper to watch him go, and for a moment his expression softened just a bit.

Then he turned back to his work. Giving an uneasy glance at the 'send restraining orders' pile, he turned his attention over to the pile of still unread paper, and picked up another letter.

Like many of the other letters, this one was so tiny that Prowl had to use a pair of tweezers to open the envelope. Unlike many of the other letters, there was no return address, or even the sender's name; there was merely a postage stamp and an address directing it to Prowl of the Autobots. Inside the envelope there was a small card, whose paper was of pure, simple white with a sketch of a flower at the top right-hand corner.

He read it, and gave that distinct amused half-smile any Autobot would be immediately wary of.

The letter read, in an elegant script:

_Dearest Prowl,_

_We are__ glad it worked. And you are very welcome._


End file.
